More trekking in Laos, and appreciating a simpler life

It's been a while since I've written anything, and even longer since I've written anything about my travels. A lot has happened since Lizzie and I left Chiang Mai, and it's given me even more food for thought. So, here goes nothing.

We spent one night in Chiang Khong before crossing the border into Laos, where we reconnected with Patric and Alex and took a two-day slow boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang, via Pakbeng. Luang Prabang is a UNESCO-listed world heritage site. It is a quiet little town, nestled between the Mekong and the Nam Khan, with a state-imposed 11:30 curfew. The Lao people are calm and subdued; there is a marked contrast between the noisy hustle-bustle of a Thai night market and the quiet one in Luang Prabang, with its vendors sitting silently behind their handicraft underneath red canopies lit by bright incandescent bulbs.

We spent two days in the city, and then embarked on a three-day trek with Alex, Patric, and Paul and Kevin, two English guys we met at a noodle stall in the market. We spent the first day on mountain bikes, the second day hiking and the third day whitewater kayaking. We spent each night in a different Lao village, swimming, learning how to fish with a net, eating, drinking and playing cards. Unlike on our Chiang Mai trek, I felt very welcome in both villages. The Lao children absolutely loved us--whenever we passed along the way, they'd yell "Sabaidee!" (hello) and wave excitedly. At the villages, they'd gather around us and just stare.

On the first evening, Alex, Lizzie and I offered to help prepare dinner; not only were we allowed to help, but we were give quite a bit of responsibility! Once we finished chopping up the vegetables and meat, I was given the task of cooking the main meat dish--a tasty beef stir fry--over an open fire, guided by various members of the family. They all had a bit of a chuckle when it came time to feed the fire, and I asked them if it was ok to blow on the embers. I guess it was just so blatantly obvious to them that that needs to be done, but I was naturally hesitating with every move.

I really enjoyed being a bit of a spectacle in these villages. I got the impression that neither of them got many Western visitors, so we were interesting both to look at and to interact with. Although this was slightly awkward at times, it was amazing otherwise. Despite having read that Laos women bathe in sarongs and consider anything less showing too much skin, I wore my bikini to swim, having no room for a sarong in my tiny backpack. I tried to be discreet when getting out of the water, but got some major stares from local women (no men were around) nevertheless. Lizzie maintains that they were marvelling at my long legs, white skin (I am still pale as a ghost) and blonde hair--thanks, Lizzie!--but I think they were appalled that I was so scandalously clad. Maybe it was a bit of both!

Generally speaking, though, I feel as though the locals were very accepting of us, even though some of our behaviour and dress may have been ill-suited to their culture. On the second night, I went for a wee wander to check out the humble village temple. Its grounds were buzzing with monks, novices (monks in training) and children. I approached the temple hesitatingly, knowing that I ought to have something with which to cover my bare shoulders (again, I had nothing). My presence immediately elicited curiousity; the boys invited me to have a look inside the temple, and followed me in. I used the little bit of Lao I had learned from Jao, one of our guides, to have a bit of a talk with them. They laughed hysterically at everything I said, and allowed me to take a few pictures.

I really enjoyed our last couple of days in Luang Prabang, not for the sights we've seen, but for the amazing people we've met. Lizzie and I have been working hard to develop our Lao vocabulary, and we now know our numbers and some phrases like "What's your name?", "How much is this?" and "Where are you from?" It's incredible how far a few basics like that can go. I assume most Westerners don't bother to learn anything past the obligatory "sabaidee" (hello) and "kob chai" (thank you), since even a few extra phrases are enough to pleasantly surprise a local, putting a smile on his or her face, and drawing a bit of a crowd. They immediately want to know how long you've been in Laos and where you've been studying. Lizzie and I get a huge kick out of going through every single Lao thing we know; "Kwai hak jao" (I love you) gets a huge response, especially when followed by "jao hak kwai bo?" (do you love me, too?).

I've especially gotten a lot out of speaking with monks and novices. Every single one I've met is so friendly and eager to have a chat for as long as we please. I've learned a lot about Buddhism, and am really beginning to appreciate this peaceful religion. The monks live a very simple lifestyle; they must give up all material things, including (but not limited to) food after noon, drinking, singing, entertainment and dancing. Yet not a single monk I've met seems miserable with his life; in fact, they all seem genuinely happy. The italics are necessary because (I think) that is quite a bold statement to make. I rarely meet anyone who seems to me to be happy; content, maybe satisfied... but really and truly happy? I'm not sure how many people can truthfully say that about themselves. I certainly can't.

Tonight we spend our first night in Vang Vieng, which is apparently the "backpacker's Vegas". We'll see how it all pans out!

Big life decisions

I wrote this on 21 May. It has little to do with actual travelling, except for the fact it was inspired by my travels.

What am I going to do with my life? This is a question that has often occuppied my thoughts, especially this past year, a year that I took off primarily because I wanted to sort out an answer. Although I wasn't entirely sure I'd worked it out before leaving for Asia, I was pleased to have at least a satisfactory--albeit vague--plan. I'd return to Toronto in September, reinvigorated by my travels. I'd work towards my PhD, taking summers off to explore the world. I'd do some freelance science writing on the side to broaden my horizons, open up my options, and maybe even earn some extra cash (!). Sorted.

But for the first time since I began my travels, as I sit in a crowded, poorly-ariconditioned bus to Chiang Khong, a new option has materialised in my head: what if I just didn't come back? Perhaps it's far too early to properly consider such an option; I have only been travelling for about two weeks now. But I have thoroughly--and I mean thoroughly--enjoyed my time here so far. Why not extend it.... indefinitely?

I could pick up some work, perhaps as a teacher, or really just anything else for which a knowledge of English is an assett. I met a guy last night who works as a tour guide; he told me I could become one, an earn a whopping $70 per day. How cool would that be?

I'm not sure I'm ready for the 'real' world of living in the city, working long hours, weekends that come and go too quickly. I don't even know if I want to be part of the world of academia, which I consider to be semi-real, with its flexible working hours and lax deadlines. But because I enjoy lists, below are my reasons for wanting to begin my PhD come September in the first place. Some might seem a bit silly and 'wrong', but rest assured that each one is almost equally important to me.

1) The working hours. As a first-year PhD student, I have all of six hours a week when I need to be somewhere at a particular time. Those are just class hours; if you add in teaching assisstantships, meetings, and the like, you get maybe twenty hours--and that's a generous estimate.

2) The pay. I'm not kidding. Although graduate students make a notoriously low sum of money, it is fixed, stable and enough to live off of. Plus, as has been comically noted in a PhD comic, if you divide a graduate student's 'salary' by the number of hours he or she spends working, you get a really high hourly wage.

3) Freedom. To do what you want, when you want. A day off here and there? No problem. Drinking on a Tuesday night? Sure! This is directly related to 1, and the reason why I am able to do cool things like rowing.

4) Putting off adulthood and reponsibility. As a grad student, I'm still a student. As a student, I'm not yet an adult.

grad student --> student --> kid --> low-level responsibility

5) Thinking. Philosophy requires an analytical kind of thought process that I thrive on. I can't think of anything more mentally fulfilling than trying to solve philosophical quandries. Discussing these things is also good fun, especially over beers!

6) Writing. I simply love to write!

Although each one of these things is highly appealing, academia has its definite shortcomings. I've never quite felt comfortable in academic circles; I feel like an outsider, constantly trying to prove my worth. Is philosophy of science important enough--to me, to anyone--to devote so much time to? I'm not sure it is. I'm not sure it benefits anyone other than the academics who occuppy their minds with it. Could my time not be better spent doing something more productive, more beneficial to others?

Having said all of this, I do realise that I am perhaps the most fickle person on the face of the earth, and will probably see all of this in a different light tomorrow. So don't worry, fellow HAPSATers (is that a word?)--I'll see you all in September!

Trekking and more in Chiang Mai

I've been in Chiang Mai for over a week now, and I'm really enjoying my time here. I arrived two Sundays ago and checked into a guest house that offered a room with two single beds and a private bathroom for just 150 baht per night. I was just thinking what a shame it was that the other bed was going to waste, so to speak, when Lizzie--a super cool Scottish lass--arrived at the guest house, also seeking a room. I asked her if she'd like to share; she agreed, and we've been inseparable ever since!

Lizzie and I spent our first two days in Chiang Mai wandering the streets, checking out some of the markets and Buddhist temples. We had a curious run-in with a monk at one of the temples (I think it was Wat Phan Tao... but I'm not sure). Normally, monks are not meant to have any physical contact with women; it is considered taboo to even brush against a monk's robes. So you can imagine my surprise when a certain cheeky monk, after introducing himself, took my hand as if to kiss it! But it gets worse--he brought my hand next to his face and took a long, slow whiff of it. He then smelled my arm, and asked if he could take a picture of me. Needless to say I was very relieved when this naughtly monk moved on from me to harass Lizzie.

After two days in the Chiang Mai, Lizzie and I embarked on a trek to the jungle about an hour north of the city. We were placed in a group with six other people: Christina and Uland from the States, Patric and Alexandra from Switzerland, and Fanny and Rudolf (yes, we did have a laugh at those names!) from France. We very much enjoyed one another's complany, and now Uland, Patric, Alex, Lizzie and I will be travelling into Laos together.

The trek began with an elephant ride. Although I wasn't overly keen on doing this in the first place, it was quite cool to be riding on top of such a giant and powerful creature. However, that feeling soon wore off, and was replaced with a sense of pity for these animals, that didn't seem too excited about walking uphill with humans on their backs in the heat of the midday sun. The elephants weren't treated cruelly--their keepers merely prodded them along, often just verbally, rather than physically--but I just would have rather walked alongside them instead of riding on top.

After flying across a river in a cage on a zipline (clearly there merely for the pleasure of foreigners, or farang) we had a rice-based lunch prepared by our tour guide Kai and some local women. We then began a three-hour hike, with Bo, another guide, leading the way. I was blown away by my surroundings--the jungle was absolutely immense, and the diversity of plant life was astounding. I really enjoyed our mostly uphill hike, and had so much energy that I stuck right behind Bo the whole way. My fellow trekkers were impressed by my stamina. Along the way, we took a break at a waterfall, the first of many we'd dip into of the course of the three days.

That night, we stayed in a bamboo hut with a Lahu village. I was concerned that this experience would be fabricated to meet Western expectations, that we wouldn't see 'authentic' Lahu life, but an exaggerated version of it. I was worried that we'd be invading the villagers' lives. So I was pleasantly surprised by most of the villagers' seemingly indifferent attitudes towards us. Our hut was at the edge of the village, and we were left to our own devices most of the time. We had a lovely, low-key evening, with Bo and Lizzie providing some tunes on the guitar.

On the second day of our trek, we were joined by 'Jack Sparrow', a young man from the village that can best be described as an overgrown teenager. He carried two things with him as we trekked through the jungle: a sling shot and a sharp knife. He used the sling shot to shoot rocks at various objects. He'd occassionally stop to climb a lychee tree and pick us fruit. He fashioned us hats out of giant leaves. He made a turbine out of bamboo shoots. I was impressed by how resourceful both he and Bo could be.

That evening, we stayed in a jungle camp in a similar form of accommodation. We had an amazing time, and really bonded. It's incredible how quickly we were able to get to know one another, and how well we connected, given how randomly we came together. We shared our meal and some beers with our guides, which I got the impression doesn't happen too often--it seemed that they weren't used to being invited to socialise with farang. Lizzie and I ended up staying up quite late with Bo and Jack Sparrow, who we found out were actually called Son and Nu respectively. I couldn't help but have a bit of a crush on Bo--he was so kind and gentle and had the nicest little singing voice! Jack Sparrow, on the other hand, was a complete nutter! Lizzie was lucky enough to become the object of his desire, and she had to spend the rest of the evening fending off his advances.

We did very little trekking on our third and final day, but got to go whitewater and bamboo rafting. Whitewater rafting was AWESOME--what an adrenaline rush! I definitely would like to do some more of that. On the way back to Chiang Mai we ended up sharing a bus with another group; we were talking and laughing the whole time, while the others just kind of sat there. I think they were jealous.

Now we're back to regular ol' travelling life in Chiang Mai. Today Lizzie and I will be visiting Doi Suthep, a temple that is very sacred to Thais, and then heading towards the Laos border tomorrow morning.

How I got into this solo-travel thing

Written on 10 May

This first blog entry is quite personal and drawn out; not all entries will be so intense!

After three days in Bangkok, I await my delayed train to Chiang Mai. Arriving in the Thai capital was difficult: it was late at night and I was alone in my dingy room, unable to deal with the sweltering heat and the fact that I was alone in a strange city. 'What am I trying to do here?', I thought to myself. I'm just not cut out for this. I want to go home.

But what a difference a few days with some really special people can make! I felt relatively satisfied with myself on that first full day. Yes, I was alone. But I was managing just fine, exploring the markets and wandering the streets. I had a bit of a low moment. How I already missed the company of people! Sitting with another backpacker for lunch helped to lift my spirits, and I looked forward to the evening, when I'd have the opportunity to meet more people in a bar.

I was lucky. After a conversation in one bar with a professional pool player went awry, I wandered down Khaosan Road--backpacker central--into a rooftop bar that was packed with travellers. I ordered a beer and stood on my own, enjoying the live music. I was just beginning to feel a bit awkward, as I was the only person in the whole place who was alone, when a girl from a nearby table approached me, inviting me to join her group. I happily accepted.

We were two men and two women: Graeme, a musician of slight build sporting dreadlocks; Darren, a fat, balding drunkard wearing a flimsy sleeveless top; Catherine, a 19-year-old student; and me. Quite a bizarre combination, indeed, but it seemed to be working... at least that was my first impression.

Right from the start, I got on well with Catherine. She made me feel so much better when she told me that she'd been travelling on her own for three months and she still sometimes gets lonely and has the urge to go home. However, Darren soon began talking to me. The more he drank, the more possessive he became. He refused to allow Graeme and I to talk to one another, and was very physical, often grabbing my arm and pulling my towards him. Worst of all, he was extremely demeaning to women. His behaviour was simply appalling: when he wasn't slapping a woman's ass, we was scanning the room, looking for the next piece of meat to prey on.

Ironically, Darren was the one who first suggested that Catherine ought to invite me to sit down with them. This slimeball turned out to be the magnet that drew me to two amazing people.

Catherine and I ended up spending the next two days together. We'd have breakfast at our favourite streetside vendor and then venture off to expore Bangkok. We seemed to be on the same wavelength, and very much enjoyed each other's company.

I spent my evenings with Graeme, discussing everything from politics to religion, society to relationships. I don't know where to begin describing him; there are just too many dimensions to his character He is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. He is well read, and has a near-encyclopaedic memory. It is immediately apparent that he spends a lot of time not only reading, but thinking about what he's read and its significance. He's constantly looking for solutions to the world's problems--war, poverty, injustice... the list goes on. He is antiestablishmentarian and extremely liberal-minded. He has very strong, almost forceful, opinions about nearly everything. I found it hard to disagree with him, even when it was my gut reaction to do so. I believe he truly has the power to change the world. Graeme is kind, generous, friendly. There is something about him that causes those in his vicinity to gravitate towards him. Those who don't know him wish they did; those who do exhibit a sense of pride in having made his aquaintance. And rightly so: I feel so fortunate to have met Graeme and spent so much time with him.

My first evening with Graeme left me with a feeling of emptiness and gross inadequacy. This man occuppies his time seriously contemplating issues that matter to humanity. Every decision he makes is well thought out, purposeful. He never contradicts himself and always acts in accordance with his beliefs. I can't help but compare myself to him. I feel selfish because I've made my own happiness my top priority, both in my thoughts and in my actions. I feel uneducated; although I've completed five years of university, I still don't know the first thing about politics. Finally--and this is the worst thing--my poor memory for facts stands in stark contrast to Graeme's impeccable one. I felt like Graeme had had enough of my campany; I felt as though he'd given me so much, and I had nothing to offer in return.

But the next evening, Graeme said something to me that made me realise that this wasn't true. He told me he had really enjoyed our conversations and wished I wasn't leaving so soon. This compliment was later strengthened when he told me that the people he can bear to spend any lenght of time with are few and far between.

I value having met Graeme for at least three important reasons:

1) He opened my eyes to some of the problems of the world we live in today. He showed me that we have to educate ourselves to become empowered; that governments have more power than they ought to; that the thirst for money and power will drive some people to do anything, even to kill; and many more such things.

2) He gave my confidence in myself, a confidence I often lack. I am fully aware of my capabilities, but I am also very conscious of my limitations. I often worry that the latter outweight the former. Meeting someone like Graeme--someone I hid little from, and admire so much--abd knowing that he was stimulated by our conversation forced me to realise that this may not be the case.

3) I'm beginning to truly appreciate the value of travelling solo. If I were here with a friend, I would not have met Graeme (or Catherine)--that much is obvious. But, more importantly, I would not have any time to myself, time that I'm beginning to value more and more.

It was with sadness that I said goodbye to Graeme, waving to him from the seat of my tuk tuk, wondering if I'd ever see him again. No matter what happens from here on, I will always remember and cherish my first days in Bangkok.

Welcome!

After much deliberation, I have decided that I have no choice but to create a blog about my adventures travelling solo through South East Asia--I just love writing and sharing my thoughts far too much! As opposed to last summer's blog (indefinitelycycling.blogspot.com), I will update this one less frequently, but in more detail. As much as I enjoyed detailing my every move as I cycled across Canada, it did become a bit tedious and repetitive at times; so this time, I've decided to take on a different approach: I will make fewer posts, but each will be more detailed. I hope you enjoy my (often random and muddled) musings as I discover more and more of this world we live in!